


and when the clouds part that's when i'll see you

by CallToMuster



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint/Coulson Holiday Exchange, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Road Trip!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-02 09:16:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8661694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallToMuster/pseuds/CallToMuster
Summary: If Lola had eyes, she’d be rolling them right now. It’s obvious to a neutral third-party like her that the two are in love with each other. And if Lola had arms, she’d use them to knock Phil and Clint’s thick skulls together. But she is just a car. The car these two morons will be going on a road trip in. It’s going to be a long two weeks.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iloveitblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveitblue/gifts).



> Well folks, this is my first fic exchange ever. I'll admit, fluff is not my usual cup of tea, but I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope y'all enjoy it!

Lola admits, she isn’t exactly the best car for a road trip. But Phil and Clint don’t seem to mind, so Lola’s happy. Secretly she thinks that Phil is a bit overprotective of her. A road trip will be a nice chance to really burn some rubber. 

Clint seems to think so as well. He’s practically giddy with excitement, bouncing off the heels of his feet as he places his duffle bag in the back. Phil is leaning against Lola, a small smirk on his face. Lola watches his eyes track Clint behind his sunglasses, mapping his every move like he’ll never see it again. If Lola had eyes, she’d be rolling them right now. It’s obvious to a neutral third-party like her that the two are in love with each other. And if Lola had arms, she’d use them to knock Phil and Clint’s thick skulls together. But she is just a car. The car these two morons will be going on a road trip in. It’s going to be a long two weeks.

—

“I gotta say, Coulson, it’s a real honor to be in Lola.” Clint grins, wiggling around a bit to find the perfect position. 

“Yeah, well, you’ve earned it, Barton,” Phil takes his eyes off the road for a second to glance over at Clint and in that look a decade-long relationship is conveyed, a relationship forged in the fires of shared traumas and mutual competency. 

Clint’s smile stays firmly intact on his face, but Lola can tell he was expecting a sarcastic reply, something along the lines of “Only God knows why I let you in here, Barton,” but no. He sits back without another word, and looks out over the city fading into suburbs around them. 

—

Clint’s silence lasts all of ten minutes before he pulls out a CD of music to listen to. Lola is intrigued, and allows him to insert the disk into the CD player Phil installed a couple years ago. After a couple seconds, the notes spill forth. It’s definitely not pop music. It’s vaguely… orchestral? 

Then - abruptly — the tone changes as a man chants, _“How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Caribbean, impoverished in squalor, grow up to be a hero and a scholar?”_

Lola is drawn in by these strangely eloquent words, and she can tell Phil is too. The song plays on, and when another man says, _“Alexander Hamilton. My name is Alexander Hamilton,”_ Phil lets out a quiet huff of surprise. 

She’s always known Phil was a bit of a history nerd — scratch that, a _big_ history nerd — so she is not at all shocked when he immediately spouts, “Alexander Hamilton? Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton? That Alexander Hamilton?”

“Oh yeah, boss,” Clint exclaimed, all smiles. “We got a long road trip ahead of us and the whole show is recorded here. All forty-six songs.”

Phil reaches the highway, turns on cruise control, and settles in for the long haul. 

Two hours later, as the last chords of _“Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?”_ are ringing out, Lola is astounded by the sheer depth of the lyrics throughout the show. Phil is too, it seems, for she notices a slight prickling of tears in his eyes that he blinks away before they can fall. 

“Damn,” is all he says, and Clint nods vehemently with him. 

—

Their first stop (well, second if you count the gas station for food and trips to the restroom) is to some science museum in New Jersey. Lola didn’t even know it existed, and it looks slightly run down. Perfect for a road trip, then. 

Upon parking, Clint immediately leaps out of Lola and onto the cracked parking lot asphalt. He raises his arms above his head to stretch and leans from side to side, back making satisfying cracking noises. His shirt rides above his waist a bit, and Lola can’t help but notice Phil’s eyes lingering there before determinedly glancing away. The sexual tension between the two is unbearable for a third party like Lola, but she’s hindered from doing something about it by the simple fact that she’s a car. 

After a couple seconds, Phil too gets out of the driver’s seat, polished shoes and immaculate suit looking slightly out of place in their decrepit surroundings. Phil has never let that bother him though. As Lola knows, fading into the background is one of the talents Phil is most proud of. 

“C’mon Coulson, let’s go!” Clint is already a couple paces ahead of Phil as they head toward’s the Sandworth Center for Ingenuity, Engineering, aeroNautics, Calamities, and Excellence. (SCIENCE for short, which Lola thought was a little forced. Then again, who was she to talk? Strategic Homeland, Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division was the definition of contrived.)

Lola watches from her parking spot as the two enter the building, Clint bouncing along like a hyperactive child and Phil following at a more measured, even pace. Opposites attract, she thinks.

—

“No, Tasha, I’m not going to say anything!” Clint grumbles into his phone. Phil is in the motel securing rooms for the night. It’s late, too late for any tourist attractions to be open, and also a little late to be checking into some nicer hotel chains, even if they had rooms for the night, which according to all the front desks they did not. So here they are, in front of a run-down motel which is, if you ask Lola, rather creepy at night. Natasha called Clint as he was grabbing his bags out of Lola, which led to some awkward juggling until he could grab the ringing phone. 

“What is it, Natasha?” Clint snapped, eschewing the usual greetings. 

“Well, someone’s a little moody today.” Natasha’s voice was barely audible through the phone’s tiny speakers, but for a state of the art car like Lola, it was no problem. “How’s the road trip?”

“I don’t know why you thought it was necessary. My relationship with Coulson is fine.” He grumbled, shifting the weight of the luggage. There was a lengthy pause which spoke volumes. With a sigh, Clint set the duffle bag and backpack on the ground and leaned against Lola, phone still squarely against his ear. He was clearly anticipating this conversation to last a little longer than he’d hoped.

“What.” He deadpanned.

“Are you ever going to tell Coulson that you’re in love with him?” Natasha’s grin colored her voice. She was never one to mince words. Clint sputtered, flabbergasted. 

“What?! What… What do you mean?”

Another long stretch of silence. Lola is of the opinion that Natasha, like Coulson, Fury, and other such spies, know how to use a good pause. 

“No, Tasha, I’m not going to say anything!” Clint grumbles into his phone, and that brings them to the present. 

“маленький ястреб,” She says, and Lola uses her fast internal processing power to look up what that means in English—“little hawk,” in case anyone was wondering— “If you don’t tell him by the end of this trip, I’ll invite everyone—yes, that includes Stark—to a party in which I will strap you to a chair and tickle you until you reveal to the world what most people who are acquainted with the two of you know—that you, Clint Barton, have been and will continue to be, in love with Phil Coulson.”

Natasha being Natasha, these ominous lines were delivered in a steady, even _sweet_ tone. Lola is vaguely impressed, though she should stop being surprised by the woman. 

“Goodbye, Tasha,” Clint mutters into the phone, tone betraying none of his plans and giving neither an acceptance of those terms or a denial. Of course, he also could’ve been in a hurry to end this particular conversation because Phil is exiting the motel and he does not look happy. Yes, Lola thinks, that’s probably the reason. 

“Bad news, Barton,” Phil starts, and Lola is internally hoping that the next words out of his mouth will be “the motel only has one room available for the night.”

“The motel only has one room available for the night.” He says and if Lola had, you know, vocal cords, she’d be cheering right now. She is a sucker for romantic cliches and other such tropes. The only way this could get any better is if….

“And it’s only got one queen-sized bed.”

Lola is now under the impression that Christmas has come early. 

—

When the boys stumble bleary-eyed and unrested out of the dingy motel the next morning—and boy does it look more shabby in the daylight—, Lola is immediately interested in what could’ve kept them from sleeping. There’s no one but her in her mind, so she allows her thoughts to wander down a different path than they normally would. Perhaps they found a use for the bed other than slumber. 

No, probably not, she thinks regretfully. The dynamic of their relationship does not seem to have changed. Phil and Clint’s apparent sleepiness was probably caused by something normal, like a lumpy mattress or loud neighbors. 

The two men quickly load up their bags and get in Lola, pulling out of the parking lot fast. Once back on the road, Coulson instructs Clint to get the directions to someplace called “The Sunshine Diner”. 

“Is this what you were doing last night on your phone, Coulson? Finding the best breakfast spots?” Clint was all teasing smiles. 

There is a faint blush in Phil’s cheeks. “It’s supposed to have the greatest pancakes in the whole state.”

“Ahah!” Clint crows. “I’ve found your ulterior motive!”

“Shut up and get me those directions, Barton,” Phil rolled his eyes at the younger man’s antics. 

“Yes, sir,” Clint smiles. Lola wants to gag at all the cuteness. How these two do not see that they’re perfect for each other is beyond her. 

—

The Sunshine Diner is as bright and clean as the name would suggest. There are windows and bright colors everywhere. The place is — well, it’s not crowded, per se, but it’s not exactly empty either. It looks to Lola to be a bustling, cozy place. Phil obviously seems to be getting good vibes from it as well, because when he steps out of Lola, there’s a bit more spring in his step than usual. Clint feeds off of the energy of others, so he’s more lively as well. This all bodes well for the day. 

Lola is parked right in front of a massive window, and after the waitress seats Clint and Phil right in front of her, they are only separated by ten feet and a pane of glass. This provides Lola with the perfect view of her OTP. 

Sure, she feels a bit like HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey, but lipreading works, okay? 

The two sit across from each other and from Lola’s outsider perspective their body language tells everything. The simple fact that they are angled towards each other. Both are leaning in. The eye contact only stops when the waitress comes to take their order. And speaking of the waitress… She’s placing an extra menu in front of them. Lola looks closely and spies the words “Twin Suns Couple Special!” written in large, curly font. 

Oh. So this waitress thinks the two are together. Lola likes her already!

A quick look back at the boys shows her that the two are blushing. Phil seems to be launching into his “we’re not a couple” spiel, and if Lola isn’t mistaken, the waitress (her name seems to be Shirley, according to the text embroidered on her apron) is pouting slightly. Nevertheless, she retrieves the extra menus and retreats back to the kitchen. 

Clint says something that makes Phil burst out laughing. Lola examines Clint as the man watches Coulson. He looks like a dehydrated person being offered cool, refreshing water, because Clint drinks in Phil’s every look. 

Eventually, their orders arrive. Phil has a large stack of pancakes in front of him, while Clint is licking his lips at the omelet and hash browns on his plate. Phil digs in immediately—he was never one to resist pancakes—and Lola follows Clint’s face as Phil makes what is surely an obscene moan. Clint’s pupils widen and the tips of his ears turn bright red.

God, both of them think that the pining is unrequited! But it’s so obvious. Not for the first time, Lola wonders how the two of them have made a career in espionage. 

—

Their next stop is pretty impromptu, as most road trip stops are. The decision to pull in at this place pretty much consisted of Clint yelling “Stop!” and Phil, who’s used to taking and giving orders in the field, obeyed without question. This led to some honking by the people behind them and an adrenaline high for Phil, who naturally assumed he had to stop the car for some extreme danger in the road in front of them. 

There was, of course, no extreme danger in the road in front of them. There was, however, something extremely alluring to Clint off the road. “LAKE” A big sign reads. “1/4 MILE —>”

Lola can tell that Phil isn’t too keen on the idea, but Clint looks like a kid on Christmas morning, so he dutifully turns Lola onto the off-country road. Lola is pleased. The roots and bumpy dirt trail provide a nice challenge. Seriously, Phil needs to let her out more. 

Sure enough, the road leads to a large cliff overlooking a pristine lake. Before Phil can even park Lola, Clint is whooping and jumping out of the car. They didn’t pack swimsuits—it seemed unnecessary at the time, apparently—so Clint strips down to his boxers and, with nary a glance to check if the water will be deep enough, dives into the lake. Lola can sense her owner’s alarm, which lessens somewhat when they hear the clear sounds of someone coming up for air and then Clint’s unmistakable voice yelling, “C’mon sir! Jump in!”

A moment’s hesitation, then Phil is undressing as well. When he gets to his shirt, there is uncertainty as well, but after a couple seconds it comes off as well, revealing the large, gnarled scar on Phil’s chest courtesy of Loki. 

Another splash as Phil enters the lake, and moments after that Lola can hear the telltale sounds of two grown men having a water fight. 

—

The two dry off fairly quickly, considering there isn’t much hair on either of their heads, and are ambling around town looking for something to do when Phil absentmindedly almost drives into a large sign. 

Naturally, this makes Lola pay attention to said sign, which is advertising a drive-in movie night happening all that week. 

Clint reads it as well, and seems to be immediately hooked on the idea. 

“Hey, let’s go!” 

“What decade even is this?” Phil snorts, but then, “Alright fine, we’ll go tonight.”

“Yes!” Clint fist pumps. “And since it’s a drive in, we’ll get to relax in the best, most beautiful lady in town.”

Lola is embarrassed to admit that it takes a couple seconds before she realizes he’s talking about her. Clint Barton is slowly worming himself into a place in her heart. (Phil’s heart is already occupied by him, of course.)

The movie showing when Lola pulls up to the theater that night is some action thriller, a formula that Hollywood seems to be produced hundreds of times. This does not deter her two passengers, however. They find a nice spot to settle down and watch.

When they get comfortable, Phil pulls out—what else—a roll of doughnuts. The Little Debbie kind. Clint is delighted, and his giddiness only heightens when another roll is procured, seemingly out of thin air.

“Chocolate or powdered sugar?” Phil holds both sleeves out to Clint, waiting for the man to make his choice. 

“That’s tough, sir. Aren’t you worried about the powdered sugar getting all over Lola?”

Phil silently reaches below him and out comes a pack of wet wipes. 

“Good plan, sir.” With that, Clint takes the powdered sugar doughnuts, ripping the sleeve open and stuffing a whole one in his mouth. The powdered sugar, of course, sprays everywhere, but Lola finds that she doesn’t mind that much. 

“Mm,” Clint groans around the mass of pastry in his mouth. “This tastes almost as good as I imagine you would.”

Silence. Dead silence. The ringing in Lola’s head outweighs the ambient noise around them. In the background, on the movie screen, something explodes, but no one pays it any attention.

“What?” Phil asks quietly, stunned. 

“I—I mean,” Clint stutters. “You—I—I mean—,”

“What did you mean, Clint?” Phil questions, voice unreadable. Lola can’t breathe. This is everything she could’ve dreamed for. (Well, she can’t breathe anyway, but the situation is also a contributing factor.)

“I—,“ Clint swallows, “I’m in love with you, Phil. Have been for years.”

Phil’s eyes go wide. 

“I understand if you can’t, can’t work with me anymore. I’ll request a transfer as soon as we get back. I—I can even leave tonight if you want.” Clint looks miserable as he stumbles over the words. Lola hopes Phil will do the right thing. She thinks he will, but she’s never been good with these sorts of things.

“Clint,” Phil breathes. The man in question starts forward like he’s going to talk again, but the words are cut off by Phil’s lips. 

“Clint,” He says again against other man, but this time there’s a low urgency to it. They start kissing, and things probably would’ve started to escalate, but Clint pulls away.

“For real?” He asks, needing to clarify.  “I mean, you want this too?”

“God, Clint, yes,” Phil implores. “Now kiss me.”

Clint does. Lola dies inside.

—

When they pull up into the private parking garage right by the Avengers Tower (Clint is driving, and doesn’t that say something), the rest of the Avengers are waiting. Also greeting them are balloons, streamers, and obnoxious signs that were obviously made by Thor, given that they say things like “Felicitations On Your Most Joyous Union!” and “May This Coupling Be Blessed”. Tony and Steve have their arms around each other of course, and Natasha and Bruce stand off to the side, Bruce sheepishly smiling and Natasha with a devilish smirk on her face.

“Woohoo!” Tony cheers as Phil and Clint get out of Lola. Phil’s ears flush bright red. “Get some, lovebirds!” He pauses. “Wait, you get it? Love _birds_? Because Clint’s codename is Hawk—“

“We get it, Tony,” Steve interrupts fondly. 

Unfazed, Tony starts talking again. “God, you two cost me a pretty penny. Do you know how expensive it was to buy out every hotel room except one within a ten mile radius of where you were at any given point in time? Very, is the answer.”

“How’d Phil like the music, Clint?” Natasha questions, smile still firmly in place. “Told you he’s a nerd.” 

“Puh-lease, as if we all didn’t know that after the encounter with Capsicle here.” Tony rolls his eyes, and the blush is creeping higher on Phil’s face. 

“Friends!” Thor exclaims loudly, because that seems to be the only volume he knows. “I was most glad to hear of your marriage!”

“Whoah, big guy,” Clint exclaims, blush on his face as well now. “We just started dating. No marriage.”

Thor looks vaguely heartbroken. In the ensuing silence, Bruce walks up and shakes both Phil and Clint’s hands, giving a quiet “Congratulations.” to the both of them. 

“Here, c’mon, let’s go inside,” Tony orders gleefully. “I ordered a cake frosted to look like a di—“

“Tony!” Steve cuts off, slightly scandalized. 

“What?” Tony grins. “It’s not like you don’t get anything different every ni—“

“ _Tony!_ ” 

The group ambles away slowly, clearly savoring every moment, and Lola does the same. For a while, she thought the two would never act on their feelings. And for those first couple days, it was torturous. Both men were pining for the other, but each were convinced it was unrequited. Still, better late than never, she always said. Or, well, she can’t say. She’s just a car.

Specifically, Lola is a 1962 Chevrolet Corvette, with internal modifications of course. (She isn’t _just_ a car, so perhaps she should stop using that as an excuse for everything.) She’s going to be around for a long time, if Phil takes care of her the way she knows he will. He owes her. After all, she’s taken care of him for decades. And has now gotten him a boyfriend.

Really, Lola needs to get paid more for this stuff. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was beta'ed by the ever delightful stepantrofimovic. All remaining mistakes should be placed on my shoulders, not theirs. 
> 
> If you're so inclined, leave some kudos or a comment! Thanks for reading!


End file.
